"Yes, I see, father," she said wearily. She was beginning to feel very tired. The reaction of the unusual emotion was having its effect. "You are just like everybody else. You talk of mind and disposition easily enough, but you succumb to beauty at first sight. At school it was the same. All of us were made to toe the mark except Adele. Nothing was ever expected of her but to be beautiful. I did not care until you came, and were disappointed in me. Then I tried protective mimicry, but it wasn't successful."
Doctor Raymond glanced up quickly.
"What do you know about protective mimicry?" he asked.
"It's where one animal puts on the form of another animal to protect itself from enemies," answered Bee. "I thought that if I could make myself like Adele you would come to care for me."
"And was that what caused you to bleach your hair, and change your complexion?"
"Yes, father. You would not notice me, so I just had to do something. And now it's no use."
"I am not so sure about that." Doctor Raymond began to laugh. "You have worked upon the principle held by some great men, Beatrice. Henry Ward Beecher used to say: 'If you can't make people love you, make them hate you. Anything is better than indifference.'"
"Oh, father!" cried the unhappy girl, bursting into tears. "Have I made you hate me?"
"Nonsense! Of course not. I only meant—"
"A gen'man to see you, sah," announced Aunt Fanny at this inopportune moment, and the entomologist was obliged to leave the room.